Chapter 8
Renleigh
Renleigh
I don’t sleep well. If I can make it through the night without waking up a dozen times with a racing mind, I call that a win. So the fact I’m blinking my eyes open and it’s bright in my room has me scratching my head a bit.
I didn’t drink last night. And while I don’t know Hunter well, I don’t get the sense he’s the type of guy to roofie a woman with laced Swedish meatballs. I sit up and stretch my arms over my head, expecting to feel achy or sore perhaps, but no. I feel . . . great.
Taking advantage of this rare gift, I slip out of bed and pad down the hallway to the bathroom with my Earl’s T-shirt and clean jeans tucked under my arm. When I push the handle, however, it doesn’t budge.
“What the . . .”
I press my ear to the door and clearly hear water running. The television is murmuring from downstairs, and I can’t fathom my dad making miraculous overnight strides to the point he’s climbing stairs to use this shower rather than the one on the main floor.
“Hey, Dad?” I holler down the stairwell.
He coughs but doesn’t answer, so I step to the edge of the steps and lean around the corner to peer into the living room. My sister is sitting on the sofa, and my dad is in his recliner with a plate of what looks like egg whites propped on his chest.
“Hey, Linds?”
I get my sister’s attention, and she flips around to flash me a toothy grin that reads more like a warning. I’m doing my best to work through the clues when the nightmare she was trying to warn me about exits the bathroom door behind me.
“Looks like someone slept in today.”
My mother’s voice sends shivers down my spine, and I visibly shudder as I turn to face her. She purses her lips while leaning her head to one side and scrunching her wet hair with my towel.
“Really, Renleigh? You’re not a teenager anymore.
I figured you’d outgrown the whole my mom is the bad guy phase.
” She’s wearing one of her matching workout sets, lavender yoga pants with a white stripe on either leg with a matching sports bra-type top.
My mom is in incredible shape. She still runs several miles a day.
She gets up at four to get the miles in so she can spend the rest of her day ruling the business world on her computer or in boardrooms.
She’s a shark. Literally, that’s what the people who hire her call her.
She’s both a legal expert and a master of crisis communications.
And she’s obsessed with her work. So much so that the thought of slowing down and staying in Sweetwater when my father needed her was basically, well, unthinkable.
The lure of a big oil company job was simply too strong.
“Nope. Still smack in the middle of that phase, it seems. Can I have my towel back so I can run it through the dryer before I shower?” I hold my hand out, and she dumps the damp cloth in my palm.
“I didn’t want to disturb your dad’s space, and it is still my house, you know.” She nails me with her signature superior glare before heading down the stairs to join my sister and father.
My eyes widen with fury, but I bite my tongue instead of uttering, “Half of it.” I toss my wet towel in my hamper and pull a clean one from the folded laundry on my dresser.
I lock the bathroom door behind me and pound out a message to my sister before starting the shower again.
Who knows how much hot water my mom saved for me.
ME: When did she show up? Is she here for long? WTF!
I pace in the tight space while my sister types her response.
LINDSEY: She’s in town on business. I didn’t know. I’m sure Dad did, but you know how he is.
I stare at my sister’s words and sigh before texting back.
ME: Yeah. He’s a sucker.
I reflect on those last few words before hitting send, then delete them and send a simpler yeah.
My parents are divorced, but the hostility that usually resides between spouses is instead between my mother and me.
Even Lindsey seems more willing to go with this strange arrangement my parents chose.
Probably because she doesn’t like to look at things critically the way I do.
I look at my parents’ situation and see a man so in love with a woman that he’s willing to accept whatever relationship he can have with her just so he has a piece of her in his life.
Lindsey once called it romantic, but I think it’s selfish.
My mom is exploiting my dad’s soft heart so she can keep her toe in this life whenever she wants to pop in for a visit.
She says she loves him, but I think if you love someone, you make sacrifices.
Of course, I have yet to come across another person who is willing to pick someone else over themselves, so I’m pretty sure love is a farce.
I can’t pretend I’m here to be noble. I’m here because of duty.
And guilt. And because hiring a full-time caretaker in my place would require my dad to sell this house or accept financial help from my mom, which, I’m not willing to let pass.
She doesn’t get to ease her guilt by buying her way out of this situation.
She should be here. And yeah, I’m petty enough to play martyr since she’s not.
And I know deep down, that really eats at her.
The hot water runs out on my shower before I’m done having practice arguments with my mom in my head, and the unexpected start to my day leaves me feeling unsettled while I finish drying my hair and getting ready for my shift at Earl’s.
By the time I get downstairs, there’s a plate of toast and cold egg whites waiting for me, and my sister is hovering around the kitchen, probably positioning herself to step between my mom and me if I decide to escalate things.
Lindsey has never been a fan of conflict. Apparently, I am.
“Hey, Dad. I’m getting off at four today, so I can pick you up from physical therapy.” I make eyes at my sister as I slide the cold eggs into the trash and wrap the toast in a napkin to take with me.
“I’ll take him today. I’d like to see this progress he’s been bragging about,” my mom says.
I purse my lips and hold my sister’s gaze.
She drove over today to take my dad to his appointment so I could get to work on time.
I’m sure she rearranged her schedule to do so, planning care for the twins while she’s gone.
This is what happens when my mom shows up on a whim. Plans go out the window.
“Right. Well, enjoy the show,” I huff, shaking my head as I snag my jacket and head out the door.
My chest burns with a hint of guilt, but only because I don’t like being a brat with my father.
My sister can handle me. I’m frustrated by the whole arrangement, and if I stick around, I’m going to level my mom with a lot of cruel stuff my father doesn’t deserve to hear.
My phone buzzes in my lap once I get in the Jeep. It’s a text from my sister. I sigh but read it, knowing she’s going to call me out for my behavior.
LINDSEY: You really need to get laid.
A short laugh shakes my chest. At least she let me have it with humor. Although she’s probably not wrong.
ME: I’ll keep that in mind. Sorry for being a bitch.
LINDSEY: Good. And don’t be. If you weren’t one, how would I look so good?
I laugh louder this time, then toss my phone in the passenger seat and head to work.
The main bar is packed as I tie my apron around my waist. Today's another home game, and it’s Friday, so anyone within an hour’s drive snuck away early and is crowding us here.
Draft beer at Earl’s is about half the price of what it is at the ballpark, so people came here to pre-game before walking to the stadium for an afternoon game.
It’s good for tips, but it’s hard to handle a rowdy bunch with less staff.
Thank God Daisy shows up for early games.
All the muscle in the world at the doors is still half the deterrent of the fiery brunette who runs this place.
“I’ve got this handled. Why don’t you take care of the crew in the back.” She nods to the tables, where a dozen or so Mavericks players are clustered. Empty pizza pans are stacked atop metal stands, and there’s a lone piece left on the one closest to Hunter.
“Shouldn’t y’all be warming up or something?
” I nod in the direction of the stadium as I gather the empty pans, minus the one with a single slice left.
There are a few soda pitchers on the table, and half of the guys are rubbing their eyes with the butts of their palms, likely nursing decent hangovers.
“None of us are starting today. We’ve got an hour before we have to report,” one of them explains.
“Ah,” I say with a nod, my gaze sliding over to Hunter.
He’s sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.
My body rushes with sudden heat from his attention, and my cheeks burn as I wonder if anyone else at the table notices my physical reaction.
This isn’t like me. Maybe my sister is right.
“I tried, but they won’t let me start every game,” Hunter jokes.
I give him a soft laugh. His cockiness is a little cute.
“Yeah, well, if you want to be able to shift a car from park to drive when you’re thirty, you probably should take your off days seriously. Arm care and all that.” I squint one eye, and he shakes with a silent laugh.
“I take care of my arm, Renleigh. Believe me, I take care of my entire body when it needs it.” His brow quirks, and the damn heat wave strikes my core again.
“Well, good thing it’s an off day for you. You can take care of yourself all damn day.” My lips buzz with nervous energy, but I manage to form a smirk anyway.
“Ohhhh, that’s rough, man!” One of Hunter’s teammates nudges him in the bicep with a balled fist, but Hunter’s gaze remains fixed on me, his sure smile still locked in place.
He licks his lips as he sits forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“I was up all night putting together my . . .” He sucks in his lips as his brow furrows, I think trying to remember either the real or fake name of the bookcase he purchased.
“SNUFLEUPERGIS?” I help him out.
“Isn’t that from Sesame Street?” one of the other players pipes in.
I chuckle because it’s close to the name of one of the show’s characters.
“I finished at two a.m. If only I had an extra set of hands to help.” His gaze follows me as I round the table, picking up empty glasses.
“You had an Allen wrench. That’s better than hands.”
“Ha!” He busts out a laugh at my terse response, and as I pass behind him, he twists in his seat and catches my wrist with his hand.
“Hands are always better than some tool,” he says in a low voice. His eyes glimmer with what I’m pretty sure is innuendo, and my stomach tightens in a way it hasn’t in years. I lean forward and put my mouth near his ear.
“Depends on the tool,” I say, pulling back and giving him a wink.
His mouth forms an O that he hides with his palm before his teammates catch it.
“Tell our boy to get off his ass and come camping with us Sunday, Renleigh,” says Jasper, a regular here given this is his fifth year playing for the Triple-A team.
I have to hand it to him—he’s not giving up.
He must be twenty-seven or so by now, and in rookie ballplayer years, that’s nearing retirement.
I shrug and glance at Hunter, whose gaze is waiting for me.
“You should go. Camping by the stream is a thing around here. Maybe one of the guys can teach you how to fly fish.”
“Pfft, doubt that,” Jasper laughs out. “We can teach him how to drink, though.”
I roll my eyes.
“Well then, maybe you’ve got the right idea. That’s not camping,” I say, scolding the crew along with him. I recognize Jake, Roddy’s son, at the end of the table, and I give him a nod. “Of everyone here, you should know how to camp by the springs.”
He lifts what looks like a beer, something he should not be drinking before a game, even if he’s not playing.
“You say that like I had a dad around to show me how,” he says, and a collective wince hits all our faces.
I think I have family problems. Jake’s literally on the field with his.
“Wish I could help,” I say with a shrug. I head to the back to dump the dirty dishes before my red cheeks burn off my face.
“You all right, hon?” Daisy says as she nestles in next to me at the wash station. We’re down a dishwasher until early afternoon so maybe I should offer to hide back here until the guys leave.
“I’m fine. Just the usual sexual harassment from entitled ballplayers,” I say with a laugh.
She grimaces and glances through the open window to the back area.
“You want me to deal with them?”
“I have it handled. Thanks, though,” I say, stopping her from going full bouncer on the country’s top pitching prospect. Besides, this might be the first time I’ve wanted attention from a guy in this joint. In fact . . .
“I’m going to go close them out,” I say, drying my hands and leaving the rest of my glasses with Daisy.
“Give ’em hell, girl,” she laughs out.
I’m sure she thinks I’m looking to spar with the guys. It would be typical of me. But there’s something about this day that has me looking at things through a new lens. Maybe it’s the good night’s rest. Or that my mom is here. Or, like my sister said, I really need to get laid.
Whatever it is, I’m about to do something reckless for once. And I refuse to feel bad about it.
I step to the head of the table while the guys are pooling cash to pay their tab and, hopefully, tip me well. I cross my arms over my chest and wait for Hunter to glance up and see me waiting.
“I’ll go.”
His brow lowers, and his eyes haze.
“Camping. I’ll go with you guys. I haven’t been in years, and frankly, I need to get out of my house. So, I’ll go. And I’ll show you what Sweetwater camping is all about.”
Hunter blinks a few times and glances to his right, meeting Jasper’s stunned expression. I don’t hang with these guys. Not ever. Even Jake, who I technically grew up with, isn’t someone I spend free time with unless it’s running into one another at the market.
“Do you need me to get my gear out of storage, or—”
“I . . . I have gear,” Hunter stammers out. His surprised reaction is sweet.
“Okay, I like a thick sleeping bag, so if you don’t have that, I’ll get mine. Head up there at ten, get there for lunchtime?” I scan the table, and the dumbfounded group of guys look at each other and nod. I have a feeling packing in beer was the only plan they truly thought out for the getaway.
“I’ll pick you up at your place,” Hunter says, and I bite the inside of my cheek, because I was planning on driving myself.
There’s freedom in a getaway car. But I don’t want to give myself an out.
I want to do something wild for once, even if it’s just spending a night under the stars with a bunch of dudes.
“Okay,” I relent.
And then I push things into new territory.
“It’s a date.”